Bob was an idiot

Bob was an idiot; he thought that the rainy season was the best of seasons. Needless to say he liked rain, or possibly just the lack of sun, or maybe he just loved sitting around waiting. Waiting for the rain to fuck off.

Regardless of his reasons, he was an idiot. Nobody would realize this until Bob was no longer alive, until Bob died.

How can one go through life as an idiot without anyone finding out? Good question, I don’t think he did it on purpose. It was as natural and as confounding as the precipitation that he was so fond of.

Why does it even matter that Bob enjoyed the odd seasonal shower? Better still, is it even relevant that he was an Idiot? To these queries I say yes and yes respectively. The afore mentioned attributes of our friend (that’s right, he’s your friend too now) and the way which they were perceived are the very backbone of our case.

Shall I continue? Perhaps I’ll begin before I presume to continue, one must first have started after all, before one may pause from and then recover by continuing. (I see my lawyer talk has impressed you, yes?)

Let’s get on with it then.

Bob stands accused of multiple counts of murder, or rather, his ghost does. The relevance of this postmortem accusation is that if Bob’s ghost is convicted, then my client (Bob’s heir), stands to lose quiet a bit of money. The deceased’s estate, which is substantial in it’s monetary value, is currently being held ransom by this court (figuratively speaking of course) until it’s revealed if Bob is indeed responsible for any damages resulting from the results which resulted from last week’s kerfuffle.

He wasn’t, he was an idiot.

My client is a greedy little shit who refused to vacate my office until I gave him my word that I would do my best to clear Robert’s name, thereby forcing this court to release his estate and all monies contained therein unto it’s rightful owner (my greedy little shithead client). So I stand here before you all to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Bob was innocent. Or at the very least, unable to be held accountable for his alleged crimes due to an extra helping of idiocy he received early in life (unbeknownst to most).

Let’s begin where we began. Bob was enamored with rain. He was despondent when the sun was shining and would walk around the house in his welly boots, cursing under his breath the lack of puddles for which to splash about in. When the sky clouded over there would appear on his visage a look of such preemptive bliss that one would not be amiss to think that the smiling Buddha had just shot him in the ass with a rainbow. While that is a perfectly normal conclusion to be reached by your average passersby, nothing could be further from the truth. Bob of course hated rainbows! Why you ask? Don’t be so goddam stupid! When does one usually see rainbows? Why when it has stopped raining of course! And Bob loved the rain (remember?). In fact, Bob so loathed the sight of rainbows that once, as a child, he ransacked the entire cereal aisle of a Piggly Wiggly because there was a sale on lucky charms (chock full-O-rainbows, lucky charms are). No charges were pressed at the time of said incident; so for the first time, Bob’s idiotic nature slipped through the cracks.

If only he’d been stopped after that first fateful unveiling, perhaps his condition may have been discovered and he may have received the help he so desperately needed. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t, so here we are.

I’ve told you about this ingrained predisposition to wanton acts of anti-rainbowsity not only because I find it incredibly funny but also so you may glean the innermost workings of Bob’s then fledgling idiocy. It is these workings, the innermost ones I just alluded to not 2 seconds ago, that are the cornerstone (the only stone, in fact) of my case.

As you all know (no?), a lot of people died last week as a result of Bob’s actions. There can be no denying that if Bob had perhaps taken a left instead of a right (or carried on straight I suppose) at some point in his route that fateful day those people would still be alive today. Unless of course its true what they say that when fate says your number’s up, it’s up. I mean Bob could have been averted from his destined route by some futuristic do-gooder who had some sort of stake in the lives of the folks what died that day and thereby devised some sort of sci-fi type solution to the problem whereas he bent time and space and in true cinematic fashion plunged back in time just in time to grab the wheel and steer Bob down a side street and saving the day! Yet as the happy music played and the tear jerking slow motion celebrations kicked off, a pissed off postal worker could have opened fire on the milling crowd. Or perhaps a dirty, beardy fella with a funny hat might have run out screaming something akin to a shakira song and blew himself up. The point of this lil' sidebar, ladies and gentlemen, is that maybe fate cannot be avoided. Then again maybe it can be, who am I to say?

Back to the facts. People are dead, and at the moment a lot of the evidence is pretty damming for ol’ Bobby boy. I guess what I want you all to see today is that Bob can not be held criminally responsible for the events that occurred that day. I know I said before that I wanted to prove he was innocent and blah blah blah, but that’s just something they tell us to say at the beginning. Makes everything seem a bit more do-able if you know what I mean.

The reality is folks; Bob was as crazy as cat shit. Not, mind you, all of the time, but in the right situations he would lose it. The events of that day; when laid out and inspected, by one who knew Bob, as my client (who is a greedy little potty mouthed shit stain) and I do, can be seen to be more than enough to have sent Bob over the proverbial koo-koo's nest. I myself upon hearing what unfolded was very surprised that the body count was as small as it was.

The day in question was the day of the annual "sunshine parade”. You know, the one they hold every year… THE parade. It’s quite a show. I have no idea what it’s meant to commemorate (other than sunshine one would assume) but nevertheless we’re stuck with it. Although maybe next year they’ll give it a miss, that has yet to be seen.

Anyway, parade. Everyone loves a parade. Why? Because their lives are so pathetic that clowns throwing candy you would never think of buying from a store, and big floating animals/cartoon characters/poorly hidden product adverts make them feel like accomplished human beings. Because of this feeling of accomplishment, and perhaps because there’s nothing on TV but re-runs of Seinfeld, people had flocked to the streets in record numbers to bear witness to the yearly tradition (some brought lawn chairs, nobody brought umbrellas).

As everyone was settling in for a jolly good watch of a jolly good parade, a jolly good cloud mass started rolling in due to a low pressure system which originated in Yellowknife I believe. Seeing this, children and adults alike started to dread that their beloved parade would be rained out. Bob, miles away, stopped cursing the sun as he paced through his home in his freshly polished blue welly boots and his face near split in two as his Rainy day smile exploded from somewhere behind his nose.

Now Bob had always thought of the sunshine parade as his mortal enemy (Bob wasn’t fond of sunshine). Extreme? Yes, very much so, but this was due to the fact that for the previous 57 years, it had failed to rain even once on parade day. Bob was convinced the parade was mocking him year after year, and thus every time the calendar turned over to the date of the parade Bob spiraled down into the funkiest of funks. Not disco funky either.

This year, however, was different! Clouds were rioting in the sky, raping sunbeams and fathering illegitimate rain drop offspring. Bob was quite taken by it all and decided he must feature in the center of town, the lone participant in his own rainy day parade!

I told you he was an idiot.

Now, bob was plunging down the highway bound for city center where he would begin the march that was to, in his mind, trump the evil sunshine parade. Ignoring completely the fact that even if the parade WAS rained out, the score in terms of rain days to parade days would only be 1 to 57, not really a win is it.

Bob the idiot was, I can imagine, already humming along at fever pitch when it finally started to rain. The heavens opened up and liquid ecstasy began pouring down onto the roof of Bob’s Ford Taurus. Most normal, sane people, are at the least, not impressed with a rain storm whilst driving, and in extreme cases pissed right off. I know, I hate driving in the rain, rain fucks everything up.

Bob, as you may have already guessed had no problem with driving in a downpour, he rather liked it, to put it mildly. The sound of thousands of soft sultry drops pelting his beat up shitbox of a car was an erotic experience for our twisted sick little Robert. His heart would race, his palms would sweat and he might even pitch a lil tent from time to time. He was on cloud 9.

Near orgasmic and swerving all over the road trying greedily to catch every drop, Bob entered the downtown parade route.

As he was surely laughing to himself and gloating to nobody in particular over his retardedly unimportant coup, he rounded the final corner which revealed that, despite the poor (to most people) weather, the “sunshine” parade was in full swing!

Bob lost his shit

He really did, lost it in his trousers.

”Tidak bagus” he thought to his idiotic self. I'm fairly certain of his inner monologues in this instance, he once confided in me that his deepest darkest rage demons spoke Indonesian. The drastic swing of mood which Bob experienced is something that I’m sure must have been similar to what Christians go through when they die and realize that it was just a storybook. It most definitely unleashed said southeast Asian demons.

If the parade itself was not bad enough, Bob then, unfortunately, spotted one of the larger floats, a rainbow with a pot of gold on one end and a cheeky leprechaun on the other.

If Bob hated rainbows, then I don’t know the word for how he felt about our cute little Irish friends. They drove him mad with all of their plotting and planning. He could never sleep because they spent all night cutting and sewing the brightly colored fabric for their hell spawned arcs of misery directly under his bedroom window. He often waited up for them to begin so he could trap, torture and murder them, but because he was crazy and they weren’t real, he never managed to apprehend the “lil green bastards”.

A red glaze had most have surely coated his field of vision, a deep rage fanned by uncontrollable insane hate goblins must have driven him to do what he did next. There is, in my opinion, no way that anyone who was sane and in control of their wits could have even thought about committing the atrocities that Bob did after seeing that float, laughing at him as I’m sure he saw it to be.

That being the way I see things to have unfolded, I can’t see any way that decent people could find poor deceased Bob guilty. Do you not agree your Honor?

Hmmm?

Yes, I do realize how many people were killed…..

Yes, it is true that he was deposed as head of the parade committee just weeks before the day in question…..

Yes, I believe I may have heard some rumors that he had a smiley faced sun tattooed on his forehead, though I can’t say as I believe most of what I hear from the rumor mill!

Oh…. Well, those autopsy photos do seem a bit damming; yes your honor……

What? Am I in fact representing myself in this case? …Well I guess it could be said I am my own client, yes….

Bob’s brother? Me? Honestly….. Well, maybe… Yes. But I see no proof to the statement that I am the sole heir to Bob’s million dollar estate!

Oh, you have the will? Well, that may be proof enough then….

Tape? What tape??

Oh… That tape… The one where he said “I Bob, being of sound body and mind, vow to turn this years sunshine parade into a blood bath!”

On youtube? Really? Wow, that can’t be good for my case…

Excuse me? Personalized bullet casings? Nooooooo, really? He wrote the names of his victims on the bullets?? Surely that’s just a coincidence your honor!

Hmmmmmm

Is it too late, to withdraw my statements??

It is huh…

Soooooo, perjury then?

I thought as much…. Good story though huh?

Thank you your honor

I’ll work on the book in jail yes……

Thank you for your time sir…